Stan and Ford's Epic Rescue Quest
by Angelia Dark
Summary: Dipper and Mabel are put into a coma-like sleep by some Gravity Falls weirdness, prompting Ford and Stan to trek out to find a cure. Along the way, Ford discovers that Stan knows a lot more about Gravity Falls than he initially thought.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Regardless of the Shack being closed for renovations, Sundays were still Stan's favorite days for the reasons that they were his off days. Back when he was still figuring out the portal, Sundays were the days where he could catch up on all the sleep he missed being down in the basement for most of the night, or catch up on some of the shows he took to watching just for a sense of letting his mind rest for a while.

Granted, he could do that ANY day, now that his thirty-year mission was complete and the Shack was closed for the unforeseeable future, but Sundays were still ingrained as his lazy days. He slept in an extra hour and a half, let Ford wrangle the kids up for breakfast, and enjoyed the Sunday paper with some coffee, having been told the twins were out with Wendy doing some exploring.

He smirked over his paper when he heard an exhausted sigh from Ford. All that dimension-hopping and monster-wrangling was no match for a pair of kids hyped up on Weekend Fever, not even close. "Tired, Ford?" he asked, not even bothering to hide the amusement in his voice.

Oh, he could practically FEEL the look Ford was giving him and was only half-surprised his newspaper didn't catch on fire in his hands. He heard no reply from his twin, and sipped his coffee to muffle his snickering.

The humor and tranquility was interrupted when he heard a ruckus going on outside, putting his paper down and looking out the window. He could see Wendy running up to the Shack with a twin each under her arms, shouting his name at the top of her lungs. He tipped a chair over getting to the door running out.

"What happened!?" he demanded, meeting her halfway and taking the twins from her. She was heaving and panting, her face white and tears brimming at her eyes. As she caught her breath, Stan looked at Dipper and Mabel.

Both just looked like they were sleeping. Stan quickly checked them over and almost cried with belief when he found that they were breathing. By that time Ford was outside and looking over the twins too, looking more composed than Stan felt.

"What happened?" he asked. "I need to know every detail! ANYTHING could be of importance!"

Wendy managed to catch her breath and rein in her panic. "W-we were just walking through the woods," she said, taking another couple gulps of breath. "Mabel saw a bunch of weird-looking flowers and went to go look, and Dipper went with her…then one of the flowers just seemed to EXPLODE into dust—"

"Wendy, take that shirt off now!" Ford said, backing up quickly. "Stanley, don't move!" Ford ran over to the side of the house and grabbed the hose, running back over. "Hold your breath," he instructed before hosing down everyone, dousing his hands for extra measure.

Stan took the dousing in stride, knowing by this point that Ford never did weird stuff like this without reason. After everyone was thoroughly soaked, Ford threw the hose away and paced around for a moment, mumbling under his breath quickly before looking up. "Wendy, take Mabel to the bathroom and shower her off and throw her clothes away. Throw your clothes away too, I'll find you something else to wear. Stanley, you do the same for Dipper!"

As Ford hurried inside and for the vending machine, Stan pointed Wendy to the direction of the bathroom, taking Dipper into the bathroom in the spare room, putting the clothes in a bag and showering the boy off as best he could, hoping it was good enough for Ford's reasoning. He bundled Dipper up in a blanket and carried him out, setting him on the couch before heading upstairs to get some spare clothing for Dipper, and for Wendy, picking out something for her to wear from the lost-and-found closet.

After everyone was showered, redressed, and the clothing put into a garbage bag, Ford finally came back up with his journals and a small blank notebook.

"It's something I encountered a while ago, just before I began work on the portal," he said, flipping through Journal 2 and pointing to an odd assortment of flowers. "I didn't have time to study them in-depth, but from what I gathered from observation, the ones you saw have a defense mechanism, a neurotoxin that puts anything that disturbs them to sleep." Pause. "…Indefinitely."

Stan scowled, flexing his hands. "What the holy hell does that MEAN?" he demanded, not bothered with keeping his language under control by this point.

"It MEANS that I have no idea how long it'll last!" Ford retorted. "I tried examining a fox that got to close and fell asleep…"

"…But?"

"…I found crows picking at it three days later, so I never found out."

"STANFORD!"

"Calm down, Stanley! If there's one thing I know about this place, it's that there's a way to reverse or defeat anything. This was a neurotoxin, so what we need is a purifying agent to counter it. There are several remedies we can use, but I'd rather find more than one, just in case." Ford flipped through Journal 2. "…let's see…spring water from a crystal cavern, that's doable…snowflakes from the first snowfall—no, it's summer—phoenix tears…ugh, no, they're migrating north for the fall this time of year—"

He was interrupted by Stan stomping upstairs, scowling after his twin. "Stanley, where are you going?!" He got no reply, and instead began jotting down whatever means he could find in the blank notebook. By the time he was finished, he heard Stan coming back downstairs. "Stanley, I'm going to go out for—" Stan shoved past him, grabbing miscellaneous items and stuffing them into a bag. Ford saw that Stan had changed into what looked like camo hunting gear, hiking boots and all. "What are you DOING?"

"I'm comin' with you," Stan replied, shooing Wendy away from a cupboard, grabbing a few bottles of things and throwing them into the bag too. Ford made a sound between a scoff and a snort.

"No, it's too dangerous. You need to stay here with the children—"

"Stuff it up your ass, Ford, I'm comin', and that's that. Wendy, I'll pay you double your weekly salary if you stay here and make sure nothing happens to the kids." He opened a closet door, taking a sawed-off shotgun from a top shelf and stuffing it into his bag, then brought out a normal rifle, handing it to her. "And I mean NOTHING."

Ford stared at Stan like he was crazy. "Stanley, you keep GUNS in the house!?" he all but shouted. "There are CHILDREN here!"

"I know, and they know where all ten of my guns are," Stan replied. "They also know they'll be tasting a leather belt across the backside if they touch them for any reason outside another zombie epidemic." He closed the bag and slung it over his shoulder. "You got this, Wendy?"

Wendy sat down on a chair, cocking the gun. "No problem, Stan," she replied. Stan gave her a nod and headed out the door, Ford following.

"Just what the hell have you been DOING since I've been gone!?" was the last thing Wendy heard them say before the door shut behind them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

After the initial mini-rant Ford gave to a totally-ignoring-him Stan, their hike through the woods became stoic and uncomfortably silent. Seeing as how lecturing wasn't going to do him any good, Ford took the lead, taking a few paths he knew from memory, talking to himself as he walked.

"The spring water from the crystal cavern would be best as a first try," he was saying, tapping his pen against his chin. "...the entrance should be in the side of the mountain—"

"Tough luck there," Stan cut in. "There was a rockslide seventeen years ago. Nobody bothered to clear it up since there wasn't anyone nearby for it to affect." He snorted when he heard Ford swear sharply under his breath. "I say we just head up anyway and see if there's another path in."

"There IS no other path, Stanley, only one tiny opening that I could barely fit crawling through!" Ford snapped back, scowling at the foliage ahead.

"Cant hurt to just LOOK, sheesh," Stan muttered. "It sounds like the easiest thing to collect, anyway, so what's the harm in just LOOKING?"

Ford turned around shooting Stan a glare. "I'M trying to work on a short timeline to make sure Dipper and Mabel don't suffer any detrimental effects!" he said, an almost accusing edge to his voice. "But if YOU want to waste your time looking for an entrance to a cavern that doesn't exist anymore, then PLEASE, be my guest! I'LL be looking for a REAL solution." He picked up his pace, reaching into his back to pick out another journal.

Stan glowered at his twin's back, resisting the urge to ping him in the head with an acorn and start World War III. "Fine then, genius, what's next on the list?" he retorted, plucking things out of trees and stashing them in his pocket.

Ford huffed. "The quickest thing would probably be a dewdrop berry…"

"…you know, I'm like eighty-percent sure you just take crap from D'n'D'n' More D and slap the names onto the stuff you find out here."

Silence.

"Holy Moses, you do, don't you?"

"I call them dewdrop berries because they literally look like large drops of dew on the plants they grow on!" Ford shot back, his voice raised as though to hide the obvious embarrassment. "They're a brilliant antioxidant, and can probably help flush the toxin out of their bodies. Only problem is, the fairies here hoard those berries and become hostile to anyone who goes near them…"

"Gotcha, gotcha," Stan replied. "Lead the way, Fordy of Pineglen."

"Damn it, Stanley, do you HAVE to make fun of ALL my character names!? And I haven't used that one since I was twelve!"

"Whatever, they're all lame and nerdy."

Ford let out a wordless, long-drawn-out groan of frustration, heading along the path to a glen in the forest. "It should be around here somewhere…" he murmured, looking around. "Ah, across the creek." He looked around for a bridge of some sort, pausing when he heard Stan shuffle around some yards behind him, turning to see his twin hop over some rocks in the shallow end. "Stanley, for gods' sakes, you're going to slip in!"

"No other way TO cross, Ford," Stan replied, keeping most of his attention on keeping his footing. Luckily, most of the rocks were large with flat surfaces, some covered with moss, arranged in a zig-zagging pattern. He paused when he saw a rock larger than the others near the other side, completely smooth and almost glossy, narrowing his eyes critically before backing up a little and taking a leap right over it.

"STANLEY, WHAT THE HECK ARE YOU EVEN DOING!?" Ford shouted, already 110% done with his brother by this point. He massaged his temples when Stan flailed his arms to catch his balance, then stepped over the rest of the rocks to the other side.

"Quickest way over, Ford!" he called over. "Just skip the big rock, it's fine!"

Ford sighed, not wanting to waste any more time on shenanigans, and stalked over, stepping over the rocks easily, not even pausing as he stepped onto the large rock.

"FORD, NOT THAT ONE—"

As soon as he stepped onto it, the 'rock' jostled around and rose up from the creek, now resembling a crab-like creature with jagged teeth and gills that splayed dangerously as it flailed its pincers upward to swipe at Ford. Ford yelped, jumping off the creature's head and crashed into the shallow water.

The creature scuttled after him, hissing and jabbing at him as he kept flailing and scooting back in the water.

He suddenly felt a pair of hands grab the shoulders of his coat and jerk him right out of the water, dragging him onto the bank and even further back. The creature pursued only to the edge of the water before shifting back, hissing territorially before sinking down into the water again, once more, looking for all intents and purposes, a large rock in the creek.

Ford gasped for air, instinctively checking his bag to make sure his journals weren't damaged and sighing with relief when he found they were fine. He then looked up at Stan, who just arched a brow at him.

"…Told you to skip the big rock," he said, turning to the trees on the other side. "Now where were those gumdrop berries?"

"Dewdrop," Ford corrected automatically, standing and shaking the excess water off of his clothing before frowning at his twin. "How did you know?"

"Know what?" Stan asked, poking around through the trees. Ford frowned harder.

"What do you mean 'know what'?" he demanded, stalking after him. "How did you know about that creature in the creek?!"

Stan gave a one-shouldered shrug. "It looked suspicious. Didn't have anything growin' on it or nothin'. Plus, I coulda sworn it moved." He looked up. "Berries?"

Ford sighed, heading onward, shooting Stan suspicious glances as he walked. "…The berries are guarded by fairies," he said, just to move things along. "They can get pretty vicious when they attack en masse. We might get a little injured, but we only need a good handful of the berries…what the hell are you doing?"

Stan looked up from rummaging in his bag, his hand clasped around a can of soda. "…What?" he said. Ford looked ready to grab a stick and start hitting him.

"Stanley, cant you focus for one minute!?" Ford shouted. "We need to—" He broke off when he heard what sounded like a flock of very tiny birds kicking up, only more high-pitched and angry. "Oh damn it all—!" He clenched his hands, bracing down as though preparing himself to barrel right through, when Stan stepped up next to him, shook the can vigorously, then aimed it at the swarm of fairies and cracked the tab.

The can of soda sprayed all over the place and the fairies dropped like a switch had been turned off. For a moment, Ford thought they maybe dropped dead, but upon looking closer, it seemed the fairies were rolling around in the sugary soda and licking it off the grass and leaves. Ford stared for a moment before turning to Stan, who just emptied the rest of the can onto the grass, put the can in his bag, walked over to the bushes and grabbed a handful, putting them into an empty jar.

Stan filled the jar before turning back to Ford. "Got 'em," he said, holding the jar up. "What's next?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Ford stalked off with Stanley, looking incredulously stunned. "Okay, HOW?" he demanded, whacking a low-hanging branch out of his way. Stan's surprisingly-good poker face only agitated him further.

"Just did," Stan replied. He ducked when Ford aimed a swing at his head. "Hey, watch it! Just tell me what's next on your stupid list, we're working on a time frame here, REMEMBER?"

Ford actually growled at him, knowing full well that Stan knew that would make him shut up, pulling out his notebook. "It would be MUCH easier if we could get to that damn crystal cavern," he grumbled. "The water there is almost the purest thing we can manage at this time of year."

"Then MAYBE we should just go LOOK for another way in instead of bitching about it," Stan said. "A lot can happen in seventeen years, you know."

"Stanley, if YOU want to go and see, be my guest!" Ford snapped, shoving the notebook back into his pocket. "If ANYTHING, splitting up would keep this aneurism you're giving me from exploding!"

Stan scowled at him. "Fine!" he shot back, then dug around in his bag and shoved a small smoke bomb at him. "Don't waste it." He slung his bag over his shoulder and headed off in the direction of the cavern. Ford stared at the bomb in his hand, feeling a small twinge of guilt before shoving it down, stuffing the bomb into his pocket and heading off into the direction of the next item on his list.

The Moths of Eternal Moonlight (OKAY, YES, HE NAMED SOME OF HIS FINDS OFF OF D'N'D'N' MORE D CREATURES) were one of the nicer finds he discovered in the forest. After a couple months of examination, he found that the moths worked with the lunar cycle. Their lives were very short, being hatched during the full moon, cocooned at the new moon, and then emerged for the full moon after that. Provided predators didn't find them, they only lived until the next new moon, where they settled down and promptly died.

Ford only discovered their attributes after death when he was studying the new batch that was hatching up. He found a new batch of them hatching right next to a collective settlement of dead ones, and saw that in death, their wings still glowed brightly in the moonlight. When he touched them, he found that they were like hardened, brittle glass.

Naturally, he took a few for experimentation, and found that they has amazing preservation qualities. The trees and plants they settled on remained green and healthy, even in the winter. It would only stand to reason that they would be useful for helping Dipper and Mabel.

The ONLY problem with this was that the area the moths bred and settled was right smack dab in gremloblin territory.

Ford absently rested his hand on the gun on his thigh holster, heading off in the direction of the moths. If only this were winter, when those creatures went into hibernation…

He made sure to make as little sound as possible, since gremloblins worked by sound and smell. Their eyesight was atrocious, until they had a hold of you, and by then it was too late. The last thing he needed was to have his worst nightmare paralyzing him with fear.

Ford finally made it to the area where the moths were, having to look carefully to find them. In the daytime, the dead moths were clear as glass without the shininess to make them easy to spot. After some careful scrutiny, he found a good bit of them, smiling at his fortune.

He took an empty box out of his pocket, carefully plucking the moths off of the branches and putting them inside, filling up the box before securing it shut and putting it into his bag. That was two things down now, he just had to track down that brother of his and—

The sound of growling dragged him out of his thoughts. He froze up, then slowly turned his head to the side, seeing a gremloblin sniffing at the air, edging its way up to him. Ford swallowed hard, his hand inching towards his gun as he backed up ever so—

 _Snap_

—and he stepped on a twig. Brilliant. The gremloblin's head snapped up, looking in his direction. Ford quickly looked away, eyes darting around as he looked for an escape route, found one, and took off for it.

He heard the gremloblin roar and bolt after him, smashing through trees and foliage. Ford bit back all the loud swearing he was wanting to shout, only to keep the noise down to a minimum. If he could just get out of the gremloblin's sight, the creature would lose interest and head on!

He leapt over a fallen tree, feeling something drop out of his pocket. Hoping it wasn't anything important, he glanced back for a split second and saw the smoke bomb Stanley had given him. THAT could be useful, actually.

Ford skidded to a halt and doubled back, having to dive to the ground to snatch it up, scrambling under the gremloblin's reach. He jumped up and swung his arm back to throw the bomb, only to be knocked back into a tree by its tail.

 _'Oh shit,'_ he thought, shoving his glasses back up his face before he dropped and broke them. Only female gremloblins had tails, and they were worse than the males around breeding season. He looked around frantically for the bomb, swearing sharply when he saw it knocked about ten feet away. The gremloblin snarled at him, crouched down low in preparation to spring at him.

Ford fumbled for his gun, keeping his eyes just off to the side to keep from looking her directly, jerking back when he saw her bound up.

He was sure she would have gotten her claws right in him, if Stanley hadn't come out of NOWHERE and tackled her right out of the air and to the ground.

The gremloblin jerked up, snarling and swiping at Stan, who leaned out of the way and took a diving leap onto her back, manhandling her back to the ground. The gremloblin screeched, reaching back and swiping at him with her claws, managing to catch his arm and buck him off.

Stan rubbed at his arm, flexing his hand several times as he felt numbness spread, swearing under his breath as he glowered at the gremloblin. The beast roared, glaring right back, her eyes flashing.

"STANLEY, DON'T LOOK RIGHT AT IT!" Ford shouted, scrambling to his feet, only to pause when Stan just glared back harder and took a threatening step forward…and to Ford's amazement, the gremloblin stepped back.

Stan made a feral-sounding growl in the back of his throat, taking another stomping step forward, and the gremloblin broke eye contact, shifting back, growling softly. Ford snapped out of his stupor and whipped his gun out, taking aim before having his arm shoved down by Stan.

"It's fine, Ford," Stan said. "Leave it." He shook out his arm, the numbness creeping over his shoulder. "Shit, let's get out of here before this spreads anymore." He hurried off down another path with Ford in tow, looking up when thunder rumbled across the sky, which had begun to accumulate clouds. "Oh, you've got to be kidding me…"

Ford looked around before remembering something. "This way," he said, grabbing Stan's arm and hurrying off, noticing about two minutes into walking the path that Stan was stumbling and cursing under his breath. Ford bit his lip, finally coming to a cave that he remembered being there thirty-odd years ago. He quickly checked inside to see if it was empty before tugging Stan in just as it began to rain.

Stan collapsed against the wall of the cave, his hand twitching as the gremloblin's paralyzing toxin took hold. His legs had gone numb about a minute ago, but now they refused to move. Only his left arm was still functional, but even that had some numbness to it.

"The toxin shouldn't last more than an hour," Ford said, peeking out to make sure nothing else would use the cave as a shelter. "You might have some muscle spasms for a few days after, though."

"Nothing I'm not used to already," Stan retorted, sighing. "At least I'm not aching after that scuffle, small mercies there." Ford went quiet, sitting on the wall opposite to Stan, chewing his lip, glancing down absently and noticing that his hands were shaking.

"….What the hell were you thinking?" Ford finally said with no real bite to his voice. "You could have gotten yourself killed! Gremloblins—"

"If you're already thinking about it, it wont work." Ford looked up, frowning. Stan shrugged his left shoulder. "They make you see your worst nightmare, right? If you're already thinking about it, they lose that edge. Those things are cowards by nature. If they cant scare you, they cant hurt you." He closed his eyes, sighing.

Ford sat in silence for a good while. "…how do you know all this?" he asked. No reply. "Stanley?" He looked up, seeing Stan still against the wall. He had a moment of panic until he heard light snoring. "…Figures." He checked his watch and set it for an hour, thinking he'd let Stan sleep that long before waking him up, looking out at the rain.

It wasn't a minute later until he was snoring too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Ford jerked awake when he felt a buzzing on his wrist, his hand automatically going to his gun. He took a moment to fully register the situation and leaned back, pressing a button on his watch with a sigh to turn it off. He had designed it some time ago as a means to wake himself up without over-startling him like a loud alarm clock would, and already informed Stanley and the kids that when he said to give him an hour to rest, to not disturb him.

He rubbed his eyes, looking across the cave at Stanley, who was still sleeping, and felt the familiar twitch in his brain he got when there was something in front of him he didn't understand. Not-so-familiar was the fact that it was his TWIN he was getting the twitch for. He could remember having to never wonder what his brother was thinking.

He could remember a LOT of things, actually. Too much remembering and not enough knowing, after thirty years. He was willing to admit now that Stanley changed more than he thought, and that there were things he thought he knew, that he didn't know at all.

Stanley knew what that creature in the creek was, and how to identify it. He knew how to subdue a fairy swarm. And he took down a gremloblin singlehandedly. Three things Stanford didn't know.

Ford glanced at the bag Stanley brought with him, scooting over to it and quietly unzipping it to take a look at whatever was thrown inside.

The sawed-off shotgun was stashed in such a way that it could be quickly retrieved if necessary. That item was a given, considering the creatures that lingered here. Next was a container of cinnamon. THAT one was more of a mystery. Another can of soda, the jar of berries, a hunting knife, a lighter, a length of cord, a small bottle of Crown Royal, and near the bottom was a book.

Ford frowned. Why would Stanley need a book? To read in case he got bored? He pushed the other things aside to get a better look at it and found that it wasn't a book, but was instead a very old—and quite stained—journal, smaller than his own, but no less worn. He reached down to grab it.

"Twin Rule Number Five, Sixer."

Ford jumped, his hands pulled out of the bag and clasped behind his back in that habit one never quite grows out of when caught red-handed doing something you shouldn't be doing. He looked up, seeing Stanley awake and looking almost amused. "I wasn't….well…"

"Twin Rule Number Five. 'Twins don't go through their twin's personal things'." Stan rolled his shoulders and flexed his hands before arching his back off the wall of the cave, wincing when there was a definite popping.

Ford sat back, wringing his hands together. "…Haven't really followed the Twin Rules since…awhile," he replied. "In any case, you broke it first. You had to, to rearrange my house the way you did."

"Joke's on you, Ford, I didn't go through anything," Stan said, bending his knees a little to stretch them out. "I packed everything I could away. Only things I went through were the journal and any files having to do ONLY with the portal." He reached up, rubbing the back of his head. "…Didn't seem right, looking through your things…"

Ford felt his face heat up slightly. "…I was just curious. About the items you brought," he added hastily. Stan snorted, reaching in and picking up the journal inside.

"You were curious about THIS, you ass," he said, smirking. "Thirty years later and your tell for lying is still talking fast." He flipped it open before Ford could deny it.

Ford saw a jam-packed mess of writing, bad artwork, and miscellaneous fluid stains inside this journal. The only thing that was a constant was before every entry was the message **J1Pg** with different numbers following every message. "…What the holy hell am I looking at?" he said.

Stan snorted, tapping at the message. "It means, 'Journal One', and the page number that deals with whatever it was I was looking at," he replied. "Sometimes, while I was out and about, I found things out that the journal didn't describe or mention, so I jotted it down. It just became a habit after awhile. I didnt feel right adding on to YOUR journal..."

Ford took the journal, turning through the pages. "…Some things I continued in the other journals," he said, biting back a snort when he found a section on gargoyles with the added note of _'Sonofabitch nearly took my arm off'_.

"…Ford, I didn't find the other two journals until this summer."

Ford looked up, frowning. "…What do you mean?" he asked. Stan took off his glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"…I had the mechanics of the portal operational within the year it happened," he said. "It took just another few months to figure out the coding and programming." He gave Ford an almost apologetic look. "…I could have had you out of there in less than two years if I had those other two journals. I searched for thirty years…"

He let out a bark of choking laughter. "…And wouldn't you know it, two kids found 'em. That little brat Gideon found the second one, and Dipper found the third. I swear, Sixer, I could've gone into acting professionally! When Dipper showed me the third journal, it took EVERYTHING I had to play it off as a joke book until I got to the office. I think I cried for an hour in there."

Ford looked up, swallowing hard when he saw Stan's hand shaking slightly.

"…thirty years, Ford…that's thirty years too many…I feel like such a goddamn failure…"

There was a soft silence that rang through the cave. Ford bit his lip, glancing outside and seeing that it had stopped raining. The kids back at the Shack and the mission they were on seemed like such trivial matters, as horrible as it made him feel to think that. He sighed, wringing his hands again.

"….How did you know about the creature in the creek?" he finally said. Stan looked up.

"What?"

"That creature in the creek. How did you know about it?"

Stan snorted, rubbing his face. "I was tracking some bastard gnome who took something of mine. It hopped across the creek, and I followed. Stepped on that thing, and it chased me out of the water." He sat up. "It cant come out of the water, it has gills. But it moves around a lot. It was probably taking a midday snooze in the heat to warm up." He shrugged. "I just thought you knew about it."

Ford flipped through Stan's journal, finding a spot on the creature labeled **Crab-Bastard from the Creek** , his lips twitching. "…I've never encountered that thing before," he said, looking up at Stan. "You found it before I did."

Stan grinned, sitting upright. "Well don't that just beat all?" he said. Ford smiled back, closing the journal.

"It sure enough does." He handed the journal back to Stan. "…So tell me what else you found out, because cinnamon and whiskey? Really?"

Stan snorted, clapping Ford on the shoulder. "Ford, you'd be surprised."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

They were back on the path again, this time side-by-side instead of Ford leading the way. Stan had his journal open and was listing off all the things he discovered on his own. Only a handful of tidbits were things Ford already knew and had put into the other two journals, but most of them were things he had no idea about.

"Wait, wait!" Ford said, holding his hands up. "You're telling me you've had a barrier up around the Shack for almost twenty years already?"

"Duh, Sixer," Stan replied, snorting. "How the hell do you think I kept the real paranormal separate from what's in the Shack?" He stretched his arms over his head to ease out the rest of the toxin's after-effects. "It was nothin' fancy. The basic idea was, if you don't acknowledge the creatures around you, they cant come in through the barrier. It held up for twenty years, until the kids came." He snorted.

Ford flexed a hand into his hair, his expression akin to someone putting quantum physics in front of an average ten-year-old. "TWENTY years, it held? What kind of…WHERE did you find something like that?!"

Stan nudged Ford's shoulder. "Contrary to my English grade in high school, I DO read," he replied, grinning. "There's a whole section in the Gravity Falls library on the paranormal. Turns out a lot of that hocus-pocus isn't complete bunk. I got pretty good at it with some practice."

"Hopefully you didn't cause TOO much trouble," Ford said. Stan looked sheepish.

"…I DID raise the dead once. 's why I have ten guns."

"Stanley!"

"Hey, Dipper did it too! And he didn't even say the extra bit that puts them under your control! Ever had to punch your way through a hoard of zombies and then sing karaoke to blow their heads up? NOT fun!" Stan kicked a rock that was on the path.

"You didn't shoot them?" Ford asked, confused. Stan sighed.

"I was down in the basement when it happened. The zombies already took over the house by the time I got up, and I only had enough time to grab a bat and save the kids. I'm just glad I keep my brass knuckles in my pocket at all times." He shot Ford a look. "You know, all that crap would've been a LOT easier if I had known you wrote with invisible ink, you nerd. You crawl up my ass because I didn't 'read the warnings', and you HID them the whole time."

Ford felt his face heat up. "…I…DID overreact," he said. "It was a very trying day…and…I had no real memory of you to react to for thirty years, other than that last fight we had."

Stan frowned. "You held onto THAT for thirty years?" he said, sounding slightly wounded. "I mean…damn, I KNOW that fight was nasty, but…" He rubbed the back of his neck, his fingers slipping a little further back to where his brand was.

Ford swallowed hard, his hands twitching by his sides, searching for SOMETHING to say. "…the next thing we need is up on the cliff," he said, then mentally punched himself in the face. Stan sighed, adjusting the bag on his shoulder.

"I know a shortcut," he said. "Let's hurry this up, I want to get home before the muscle numbness wears off completely and I'm bedridden for a week." He headed onward to scope out the shortcut. Ford let himself fall a pace behind, feeling the urge to punch a tree.

 _'Nice going, you obtuse ass,'_ he berated himself. He remained quiet as they trekked up to a small mountainside and around to where an accessible path had been carved through, which was good because no matter what shape he was in, he was pushing sixty-three and his knees were feeling it.

Stan had to stop for a breather every ten minutes, and Ford was glad he had the foresight to bring a canteen of water. "I could have sworn I saw you pack one of your own," Ford said, helping Stan up after the third rest.

"Yep," Stan said, standing and stretching his back out and handing the canteen back to Ford.

"…So where did it go—"

"We're here."

Stan walked up onto the top of the cliff, sighing heavily when he felt a cool breeze kick up. "Ugh, finally…" he said. "What exactly is it we're looking for?"

Ford looked around for a moment. "It's a plant," he said. "It's incredibly rare, but it's highly valuable. If you wrap a wound with it, it'll heal you in a day."

"I don't even wanna know how you figured THAT one out." Stan looked around, then paused, frowning. "Ford…"

"It's a really funny story, actually—"

"Ford."

"—the last time I ever tried rappelling down a cliff alone, I tell you what—"

"STANFORD."

Ford stopped talking. "What?" he said, frowning. Stan slowly raised a hand and pointed behind Ford. Ford turned around, eyes widening.

Behind them was an enormous nest built out of branches, logs, and animal pelts, as well as some stolen clothing. Inside the nest was a sleeping GRIFFON.

"….A griffon. A freaking GRIFFON…" Stan muttered under his breath. "Is that the same one from that stupid game? I hate Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons even more now!" He edged back, his hand slipping to his bag. "Let's just find the plant and get out of here!"

Ford swallowed. "That's…going to be a problem," he replied.

"Why?"

"…its nest is built right on top of it." He pointed to a patch of plants poking out from under the nest. Stan glanced down at the plant, noticing bright red flowers growing in it, and pursed his lips to stifle a groan.

"Figures," he muttered, then sighed. "Let's get this over with before it wakes up." He and Ford crept up, remaining as silent as possible. Ford had his gun out and ready this time as Stan knelt down and prodded at the plant. "Leaves or flowers?"

"Both," Ford whispered back. Stan nodded and tugged, but the plant was stubbornly persistent. He quietly unzipped his bag and took out his hunting knife, cutting through the plants and putting them into his bag. He took about four handfuls before calling it done and zipped the bag back up, bracing himself before standing, wincing when his back cracked in protest.

Unfortunately, the crack was louder than intended, and the twins froze when the wings of the griffon shifted and lifted, a cranky-looking eye honing in on them.

"…shit," they both said at the same time.

The griffon flared out its wings and squalled at them.

"RUN!" Stan shouted, racing over the top of the cliff, grabbing Ford's jacket en route, mostly as a means to make sure his brother was with him. Ford let Stan lead him off, keeping his head turned to the griffon, swearing loudly when it lifted off from the nest and dove after them.

Ford raised his gun to fire, but stumbled over a rock, his glasses falling off his face and shattering on the ground. "DAMMIT!" he swore, squinting and shooting anyway. He apparently only clipped a section of wing that was only feather, because the griffon just shrieked angrily and flew faster.

Not needing glasses to know where the griffon was aiming, Ford dove on Stan, tackling them both to the ground a second before the griffon's claws would have caught them. He sat up and looked up at the sky wildly, having to squint to try to see anything besides the blazing haze of the sun turning the sky almost the same golden color as the griffon's feathers and fur.

Stan sat up, fumbling with his bag to get it open, cursing like a sailor when the zipper jammed. "OF ALL THE TIMES FOR THIS SH—"

"STANLEY, RUN!" Ford jumped up, jerking Stan up with him, but keeping his hand tight on Stan's jacket. Stan took off running again, and Ford followed best he could, keeping his gun raised and poised to shoot.

Another loud shriek from the griffon gave Ford a general idea of where to shoot, and he did so, with gusto. If anything, it kept the griffon away long enough for Stan to make it to the path that led off the cliff—

The griffon swooped down and Ford ducked, but the griffon's talons knocked the gun out of his hand and down the mountain.

There was a brief beat of an 'oh shit' moment before Stan grabbed his bag and tore it open, zipper be damned, and grabbed his shotgun, shoving Ford behind him and firing, managing to graze the beast's side. "Goddamn cataracts!" he snapped, narrowing his eyes and taking aim again. "FORD, GRAB THE BAG AND GET DOWN THE MOUNTAIN!"

"I'm NOT leaving you here, Stanley!" Ford snapped back. "Don't be stupid!" He fumbled around in his jacket, his hand grabbing up the smoke bomb. He looked up, seeing the griffon diving down for another go. "GET DOWN!" He threw the smoke bomb over Stan's shoulder, clenching his eyes shut when it exploded, covering an impressive range. "STANLEY, LET'S GO—"

The griffon made a blind swoop and got a lucky grab, snatching Stan up in its talons. Ford felt his heart leap when he heard his twin scream from being snatched, fumbling around blindly for SOMETHING, and found the bag. He reached in and nicked his finger on the hunting knife, grabbing it up and hoisting the bag over his shoulder, running out of the range of the smoke and BARELY managed to skid to a halt before he ran right off the edge of the cliff.

He had an idea of how high up they were, but not being able to properly SEE made the sight nauseating. He looked around wildly, honing in on Stan's screaming and managed to catch sight of the griffon making a dive down to the ground.

Girding his loins for what he was about to do, Ford took a few steps back from the cliff before diving off, the hunting knife clenched in his hand tightly, focusing everything on landing on the griffon's back.

He landed knife-first, his free hand clenching into a mass of fur and feather to avoid getting bucked off mid-air as he jerked the knife out and stabbed again. "LET GO OF MY BROTHER!" he shouted, twisting the blade slightly. The griffon shrieked, thrashing around in the air, and Ford could hear Stan shouting something indecipherable.

The griffon did a barrel roll and Ford slipped off the beast's back and managed to grab into a back leg, losing hold of the knife mid-fall. He clung for dear-life, looking over to see Stan doing the same to a talon.

"FORD!" Stan shouted over, letting go with one hand to reach out. "LET GO!"

"ARE YOU CRAZY!?" Ford shouted back.

"TRUST ME, FORD! JUST LET GO!"

God, of ALL the words for Stanley to say… Ford bit his lip hard, his heart hammering in his chest as he eyed the hand that was reaching out for him. He didn't want to die out here, and he certainly didn't want Stanley to die either. But at this point, he figured if they fell to their deaths together…

Letting out a mentally frustrated growl, Ford let go of the griffon's leg with one hand and reached out to Stan.

The griffon made swoop upward, and Ford lost his grip entirely, dropping like a rock. Stan let go of the talon he was holding onto, falling after Ford and managing to grab hold of him. At the contact, Ford clung to Stan with both arms, almost crushing his twin.

"STANLEY, I'M SORRY!" he shouted over the rush of wind, his eyes clenched shut. "I'M SORRY I LET DAD KICK YOU OUT I'M SORRY I DIDN'T STAND UP FOR YOU I'M SORRY I DIDN'T CONTACT YOU SOONER I'M SORRY I HIT YOU I'M SORRY FOR BLAMING YOU I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M—" He was cut off when he heard the sound of something going off, yelping when he felt them both jerk in the air…and then stop for a moment before descending slowly.

He opened his eyes, seeing Stanley's hunting jacket opened and arm raised, holding onto to something. He looked up. "…Is that a…?"

"Grappling hook," Stan said, grinning. "Told ya to trust me, Sixer."

Ford stared up, stunned for a few moments before clinging to Stan tighter, feeling about ready to pass out. The grappling hook's cord managed to lower them to a short slab of rock that jutted out from the side of the mountain, and Ford dropped onto it bonelessly, groaning as he felt his stomach finally catch up with the rest of him.

Stan retracted the hook, plopping down next to Ford and patting his shoulder comfortingly. "If you gotta puke, do it now," he said. "Trust me, you'll feel better."

Ford just groaned.

"…Apology accepted, by the way."

Another groan.

"Love you too, Sixer."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Well, Stanley was right about one thing; Ford DID feel better after about five minutes of retching over the side of the cliff. Stan patted his back the whole time and handed him the rest of the canteen of water when he was done.

While Ford rinsed out his mouth, Stan checked the pack, finding everything still inside. "Well, I lost my gun and my knife, but I think heading home will be smooth sailing," he said, closing it and slinging it over his back and helping Ford upright.

Ford slipped the canteen back into his own bag, running a shaking hand through his hair. "Hopefully," he said, shifting around the side of the mountain until they both got back to the path, glad that they were close to the bottom. He stumbled over a rock. "Dammit—"

"Oh, right," Stan said, opening the bag again and fumbling around inside. "Here." He handed something over to Ford, who took it and squinted slightly to see what it was. It was a case. He opened it, finding a pair of glasses inside. "Stanley, I don't think your prescription is anything like mine," he said, taking them out anyway and putting them on, blinking in surprise when he found he could see better than he could with his own pair. "What the—"

"I don't know HOW you managed to see out of those old things," Stan said, climbing down and touching ground. "They were cracked and smudged and gross. I found one of your spares in the old den and kept 'em for you."

Ford smiled, climbing down after Stan. "Thank you," he said, looking up and seeing that it was getting late in the evening. "…We should hurry back to the Shack." He walked on, pausing when he heard an actual GIGGLE from Stan. "What?"

"Say it again," Stan said, grinning like a loon.

"…Say what? Thank you?" Stan shook his head. "…We should hurry back?"

"Back toooooooo…?" Stan egged on. Ford blinked, then blushed.

"It's habit, Stanley, that's what EVERYONE calls it—"

"And now YOU. It's the Shack, Sixer! YOU called it the Shack! No take-backs!"

Ford groaned, punching Stan's shoulder. "Oh grow up, you're such a child!" he huffed. Stan punched him back.

"And you're a stick-in-the-ass old man."

"You're older!"

"By eleven minutes!"

"Con man."

"Nerd."

The name-calling went on until they were back in familiar territory, about a half-mile from the Shack. By then, they'd run out of creative insults and just looked ready to lie down and take a nap for a week.

"This would have been SO much easier if we had JUST gotten to that crystal spring," Ford said, heaving a sigh. He heard no reply from Stan. "…Stanley?"

Stan twiddled his thumbs. "…Well…" he said, then paused when he heard shuffling in the bushes coming toward them. Ford was on instant-alert, but Stan held up his hand. "It's cool, it's cool, I know what it is."

"Wha—" Ford broke off when he saw a few gnomes come out of the bushes and walk up to Stan.

"Hey, Jeff, how'd it go?" Stan said, kneeling down to get closer to their level. Jeff shrugged.

"Eh, Shmebulock got stuck and Mort had to pry 'em out, but we got it." He turned around and took something from another gnome, holding it up. "Canteen of water from the crystal cavern. Now YOUR end of the deal."

Stan snorted, opening his bag and taking out the cinnamon and whiskey, handing him both. "If anyone asks, you didn't get it from me."

"As always, Stan, it's been a pleasure working with ya." Jeff turned to the rest of the group. "LOCK YOUR DOORS, BOYS, WE'RE GETTING CRUNK TONIGHT!" The group of gnomes whooped and cheered, hurrying off.

Stan stood up with the canteen of crystal water, turning to Ford, who was staring at him. "….Also, I'm considered the gnome equivalent of a drug lord. Don't tell the kids."

"…..STANLEY, WHAT THE FU—"

* * *

"We're back!" Stan said, rushing through the door, having run the rest of the way, mostly from the desire to get home quickly, but admittedly because he didn't want to know what would happen if Ford got his hands on him. He began unpacking the items they collected as Wendy stepped around the corner, gun raised.

"Prove it's really you!" she said, eyes narrowing. "Not trusting ANYTHING after that stupid Shapeshifter, and I'm not letting anything happen to Dipper and Mabel!"

"That's good, because if you did, I'd fire your ass so fast it'd be as red as your hair," Stan replied, thinking for a moment before adding, "You called me at one in the morning four months ago to pick you up at a party because some punk brought beer and you didn't want your dad to find out."

Wendy lowered the gun. "You kinda had me at 'firing my ass', but that works too." She raised her gun again when Ford stepped in. "What about him?"

Stan sighed, rubbing his back. "Ford, just say something to prove you're not the damn Shapeshifter so we can cure the kids and I can get an ice pack on my back," he said. Ford looked lost for a moment; he hadn't had much interaction with Wendy, but then recalled the Shapeshifter's inability to replicate bodily fluid color, and took off the bandage around his finger to show the cut was bleeding red.

Wendy nodded, setting the gun down. "Great. Now, before you guys freak out, IN MY DEFENSE, you forgot to take the walkie-talkies…"

"What?! What happened!?" Stan shouted, going pale as Ford shouted in tandem, "Did their condition worsen!? Did they stop breathing!?" The two kept shouting and freaking out, not noticing Mabel and Dipper come downstairs, hair still damp from showers.

"…What are they yelling about NOW?" Mabel said, huffing. Dipper shrugged.

"Don't know, but I'm starving."

Wendy sighed, rubbing her temples before using her patented whistle used to break up a fight-pile her brothers often had to shut them up. "They woke up," she finally managed to get in.

Stan and Ford gave her identical owlish looks. "…what," Stan said. Wendy pointed behind them, where Dipper and Mabel were standing. The Pines Twins the Younger gave them waves.

"…I was heating up some of that soup in the fridge for lunch, some fumes got everywhere, and they woke up puking about a half-hour ago," she said.

"Soup?" Stan said. "What soup, I don't have any soup."

Ford paled. "THAT WASN'T SOUP!" he shouted, rushing past everyone into the kitchen. There was an awkward silence for a few minutes until he came back, looking a bit ill. "…Stanley, remind me to invest in a fridge for the basement," he said. "That wasn't soup, if was a creature I found that liquefies in the cold and solidifies in the heat…but…it's not exactly liquid OR solid anymore…"

Wendy paled. "Oh EW," she said, pushing past Stan for the bathroom. Stan sighed, bending down to hug Dipper and Mabel tightly.

"I'm just glad you kids are alright," he said, smiling. Mabel hugged him back, smiling, then squeaked when Ford bent down to hug them too.

"Next time, don't go poking around weird-looking plants," Ford said. "Stanley and I should take you two out one day and show you what's safe and what's not."

"Grunkle Stan?" Dipper said dubiously. Stan flicked his head.

"I told ya, kid, I'm not an idiot. I know my way around this joint well enough." He hugged them all again before flopping back on the floor. "Now I'm going to lie here for the next few days. Just step around me, because I wont be able to move." He groaned, rubbing his eyes. "Fine waste of a trip for that stuff…"

Ford glanced at the items before looking back at Stan. "…Not SO much of a waste," he said, sitting down next to his twin. "I wouldn't jump off a cliff blind on a griffon for anyone, Lee." He held up his hand. "High six?"

Stan grinned. "And I wouldn't tackle a gremloblin just for anyone." He smacked his hand to Ford's. "High six."

Dipper and Mabel looked at each other, confused.

"What the heck happened while we were out?" Dipper said.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Stan headed down to the basement with a large thermos of coffee, leaning against the elevator wall as it took the short trip down. He had already buzzed ahead, so to speak, and gotten the all-clear, knowing that popping in unexpected would most-likely cause an explosion. Or a hissy-fit. Usually the latter.

He stepped out of the elevator, walking past the machinery and to the door where the portal used to be, looking through the window inside. After thirty years of knowing just what was inside, of seeing it every night, it still rattled him to see it empty now. He opened the door and walked inside, heading up to Ford.

"I brought your elixir, Fordy of Pineglen," he said, smirking as he ducked to avoid a balled-up piece of paper thrown at his head. Ford snorted, grabbing the thermos and took a sip.

"Excellent brew. Your quest shall be rewarded, Lee of the Shackshire." He leaned back in his chair, muffling down unmanly giggles at the look Stan gave him.

"I really hate that name, you know," he grumbled, taking a seat of his own.

"Well get used to it, you're gonna be using it for a good long while."

Stan rolled his eyes, taking some gum out of his pocket and popping it into his mouth, rearranging a set of books and papers on the table between him and his twin, absently thinking over the past week.

Ford had already done some experiments on what USED to be some odd creature, and Stan blocked out the scientific mumbo-jumbo and concluded to himself that the fumes from the partially-cooked creature corpse was so rank it made the niblings puke out the toxins. Ford sort of gave him an annoyed look at that crude summary, but just let it go.

After making SURE Dipper and Mabel were alright and suffering no side-effects, he collapsed on the floor next to Stan and they both took a long nap. So long, in fact, that Wendy called Soos and asked him to come over and help her move them both to the spare room.

Being bedridden from the inability to move without their bodies screaming in protest gave them plenty of time to talk things over and exchange apologies, thanks, anecdotes, and plans for the future.

Ford took the time to think about what would happen after summer ended, and about what would come after. Truthfully, he was never much of a 'for tomorrow' person, always having his nose buried in 'today's' work. Stanley was always the planner guy, even if the plan was ridiculous and unrealistic, but that quest to find the cure for Dipper and Mabel proved that Stanley was prepared for most anything. And if he wasn't prepared, he could improvise and adapt.

The Shack was evidence of that. Stanley had taken Ford's house and turned it into a business with steady income for thirty years. After the initial indignity of having his house turned into a tourist trap died down, he paid attention to what Stanley had been trying to tell him about the place. Stanley took some minor inspiration from the weirdness of Gravity Falls, but for the safety and sanity—and desire to not have the government or lawsuits on his ass—he made it JUST believable enough to be entertaining but fake enough to be safe.

For his barrier to hold up for twenty years, he had to have been doing something right.

Not to mention, Stanley genuinely loved his work. He was a real people-person, and could really sell himself for his tours. While Ford already gathered from bits and pieces of different sources, while Stan might not be the most well-liked, he was the most well-known person in Gravity Falls, opening his home for parties and get-togethers. Yes, he happened to make more money in the meantime, but people still came, and had a good time.

Stan and Ford were in the middle of weighing options of what to do with the house when Mabel walked in with some lunch, listened for a bit, then said, "Why not both?"

It was definitely doable. Ford could continue his research in the basement levels, and Stan could keep the Shack going up top. It would definitely take some getting used-to and compromise.

It was Stan who came up with the ultimate compromise. "Let me keep the Shack running, and I'll play Dungeons, Dungeons, and More Dungeons with you whenever you want. Lame name and everything."

After an entire childhood of trying to make THAT happen, how COULD Ford refuse?

"I saw you pop that gum in your mouth, Stanley, no cheat-rolls!" Ford said, sorting out his character sheets. Stan rolled his eyes, but took the gum out anyway. Ford didn't know WHY Stan felt the need to prep for a cheat-roll when he was already leveling up like a seasoned pro.

"Whatever, Sixer, just gimme the dice, I'm ready to kick your Ranger ass again."

Ford huffed, sipping his coffee, wondering how in the name of the Multiverse Stanley's Bard character managed to outman him almost every game. Must be that 38-rolled Charisma.

"Maybe we should invite the kids down here sometime," Stan said about an hour later. "Mabel would make a decent Chaos Sorceress."

"PERISH the thought, Stanley! I'm not sure the game could handle more Death Muffins." He and Stan shared amused laughter. "But yes, it sounds nice. I think it's supposed to rain tomorrow, it'll be something to do."

"IS it supposed to rain?" Stan asked, picking up the die. "Huh, that stuff's really been working long-term if my joints didn't pick up on that."

'That stuff' being referred to the items they brought home. After five days of bodily agony, Mabel finally got the idea of boiling the crystal water and using it to make tea with the dewdrop berries, crumbled moth wings, and the plant from the cliff. She brought it to her Grunkles, who began feeling better by sundown, and were able to move without pain the next morning.

Stan and Ford still drank a cup every morning, and it seemed to be doing wonders for their long-term problems, like Stan's back and Ford's mild arthritis in the hands.

"Remind me to get more of that stuff later," Stan said. "It's nice to wake up and not stare at the ceiling for a half-hour before getting up due to back pain."

"Let's finish this quest before we go on another, Lee of the Shackshire."

"Sixer, I swear to Olidammara…" He paused, his face going red as Ford laughed. "Oh, shut up, it's the name of the god of the Bards, you ass!" He threw the die at Ford's head. "If you tell the kids, I'm denying everything!"

Ford just laughed harder.


	8. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Halloween was in the air, and Ford could hear the shrieking of sugar-hyped children already down the road. It was almost time to start the Mystery Shack's Halloween special, a Gravity Falls tradition by this point. Apparently, Stan started the tradition a couple years after starting the place up as a means to get back at the punks who tried to vandalize the place, and it stuck. Two generations' worth of kids grew up to anticipate it, and Stanley didn't feel the need to end it just yet.

A knock on the door made him look up. "You done in there, Sixer?" Stan called through. "I'm about to open!"

"Just about, Lee," Ford replied, adjusting his glasses and for the umpteenth time wondering how he got roped into this.

Oh yeah. Because he was dumb enough to let Stan know he secretly enjoyed doing The Twin Thing.

It was slow during the school season, and Stanley wanted to spruce things up for the off-season crowd. Somehow—Ford was certain his mind was going for him to agree to this—Stanley convinced him to change into one of his spare outfits and spook out the incoming tour. It happened to be a day that Ford had absolutely nothing to do other than reorganize his research papers, and oddly enough, he wasn't bored enough for THAT.

He'd spied in on a couple of Stanley's tours and would deny it to his dying day that he would emulate Stanley's showmanship whenever he had the house to himself. Soos caught him once, but Ford knew the guy was nice enough to not embarrass him like that by telling Stanley.

Either way, he managed to pull off a convincing tour that day, and headed inside with Stanley right as Wendy was coming in for the couple of hours she worked after school for some extra pocket money. Seeing her book bag go airborne when she saw them made that whole day worth it.

Oh, he HAD to let Stan know he still liked doing The Twin Thing…

Ford stepped out of the bedroom, rolling his eyes at the overly-eager expression on Stanley's face. "Oh would you grow up, Stanley, it's not like we haven't done this before!"

Stan was unperturbed. "Yes, but this is for HALLOWEEN. People LOVE twins on Halloween!"

"We're not begging for candy, we're gearing up to attempt to frighten children and enthrall adults."

"…..still the same crap we did when we were kids on Halloween. And I'm calling the candy the brats leave behind in their terror."

Ford groaned, running a hand down his face. "Of course you will." He sighed, straightening up. "Let's do this, then." He reached out and caught the duplicate 8-ball cane Stanley tossed to him.

"Give you an extra hour in D 'n' D 'n' More D tonight."

"You're on."

Stan beamed, tugging on his eye patch, heading out to the mini-party outside.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls! Presenting THE MYSTERY TWINS!"

 **THE END**

* * *

 _ **And now to sit back and await my inevitable demise with the upcoming episode. It's been nice knowing you, see you all in therapy!  
**_


End file.
